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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
58
“To
Paris!”
we
both
exclaimed.
“Yes,
madam!
I’ve
never
been
there,
and
always
had
a
wish
to
go;
and
I
think
if
I
don’t
go
soon,
I
mayn’t
go
at
all;
so
as
soon
as
the
hay
is
got
in
I
shall
go,
before
harvest
time.”
We
were
so
much
astonished
that
we
had
no
commissions.
Just
as
he
was
going
out
of
the
room,
he
turned
back,
with
his
favourite
exclamation—
“God
bless
my
soul,
madam!
but
I
nearly
forgot
half
my
errand.
Here
are
the
poems
for
you
you
admired
so
much
the
other
evening
at
my
house.”
He
tugged
away
at
a
parcel
in
his
coat-pocket.
“Good-bye,
miss,”
said
he;
“good-bye,
Matty!
take
care
of
yourself.”
And
he
was
gone.
But
he
had
given
her
a
book,
and
he
had
called
her
Matty,
just
as
he
used
to
do
thirty
years
ago.
“I
wish
he
would
not
go
to
Paris,”
said
Miss
Matilda
anxiously.
“I
don’t
believe
frogs
will
agree
with
him;
he
used
to
have
to
be
very
careful
what
he
ate,
which
was
curious
in
so
strong-looking
a
young
man.”
Soon
after
this
I
took
my
leave,
giving
many
an
injunction
to
Martha
to
look
after
her
mistress,
and
to
let
me
know
if
she
thought
that
Miss
Matilda
was
not
so
well;
in
which
case
I
would
volunteer
a
visit
to
my
old
friend,
without
noticing
Martha’s
intelligence
to
her.
Accordingly
I
received
a
line
or
two
from
Martha
every
now
and
then;
and,
about
November
I
had
a
note
to
say
her
mistress
was
“very
low
and
sadly
off
her
food”;
and
the
account
made
me
so
uneasy
that,
although
Martha
did
not
decidedly
summon
me,
I
packed
up
my
things
and
went.
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